


A Sea of Trouble

by DizzyDrea



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of a long day, Callen's there for Kensi to lean on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sea of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> So, I seem to have located my Callen/Kensi muse. Halleluiah! Obviously, this was inspired by the events of the episode Blye, K. Kensi's had a rough week, and while it's nice that Deeks wants to back her up, I figured Callen would be the person who understood best. The title comes from Hamlet, Act III, Scene I (the To be or not to be soliloquy).
> 
> Disclaimer: NCIS and NCIS: Los Angeles and all its particulars are the property of CBS, Paramount, Donald P. Bellisario, Belisarius Productions, Shane Brennan, Shane Brennan Productions, and a lot of other people who aren’t me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
And by opposing, end them.

Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1  
William Shakespeare

~o~

G Callen leans against the car, arms crossed as he waits. It's dark, well past sunset, and he has no idea how long he's been there or how much longer he'll have to wait. But wait he will. Tonight, it's not about his ghosts.

The front door swings open, and a lone figure steps out onto the porch. He watches as the figure turns, embracing the woman standing in the doorway before turning back and walking towards him.

"What are you doing here, Callen?" she asks as she approaches.

"Waiting for you," he says.

Kensi Blye looks tired. It's been a hell of a day, he knows, which is why he's here. He doesn't want her to face the end of this day without someone to lean on. Deeks had volunteered, but this is one time he needs to be here himself.

"I just want to go home," she says, attempting to brush past him.

He reaches out and snags her arm, halting her in her tracks. "I'll take you."

"I don't want to have to come back tomorrow to get my car," she says. 

She's not meeting his eyes, and the light from the streetlamps is so dim, that he can't really tell what's going on with her. 

"Too bad," he says, but his smile takes the sting out of the words. "I already sent Deeks home with it." She deflates then, and he takes it as a sign that she'll go quietly. "Come on, let's go."

He guides her to the car, settling her gently into the passenger seat, trying to be mindful of her damaged ribs. He jogs around to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel and firing up the car. The engine roars to life, filling this quiet neighborhood with its racecar purr. He almost wishes now that Sam hadn't insisted he take the Challenger, because there's nothing subtle about peeling out in this car, but it's too late to worry about it now.

She sits quietly as they move through the streets, and only stirs when it becomes obvious that they aren't headed for her place. She turns questioning eyes on him, but before she can even get the words past her lips, he's answering her.

"You need to have your ribs looked at."

"I'm fine," she insists. "Just take me home."

"After the hospital," he says, and he hopes the iron in his voice will get his point across. This isn't a debate, and he's prepared to dig in his heels on this. 

She shifts in her seat, taking a deep breath to argue when her ribs twinge, causing her face to crumple in pain. "Yeah, okay," she forces out as she tries to breathe through the pain.

He only nods. No need to rub it in that she should have taken care of this sooner. He knows she had more important things on her mind. Finally finding her father's killer after searching for so long has to be satisfying, but she seems exhausted more than anything. And maybe a little empty, like her sole purpose in life has been sucked out of her all in one day.

Which might not be far from the truth, and it makes him wonder what it'll be like when he finally finds all the answers he's looking for. This search is so much a part of him, just as Kensi's search was a part of her. Will he even know who he is, after all that?

He glances over at her, finding her leaning her head against the window. Her eyes are open, but she isn't really looking at anything in particular.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks.

She sighs, wincing slightly as her ribs protest. "I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?"

She's quiet for so long that he thinks she won't answer. Finally, when she speaks, her voice has that far-away quality, like she's hardly aware that she's speaking.

"I thought after I found his killer, that I'd feel happy. I thought I'd feel relieved."

"But you don't."

"No." She shakes her head. "He's still dead. Finding his killer won't bring him back."

He reaches over and takes her hand, lacing their fingers together. "He'd still be proud of you. You uncovered the real traitor, and saw justice done." He pauses. "And you've reconnected with your mother. I'm sure he'd be happy about that."

She ghosts a smile. "Yeah. It was really good to talk to my mom."

"I'm glad you two were able to talk," he says, smiling at her. "When we told her you were a Federal Agent, she got this smile on her face, like she was so proud she didn't know what to do."

"She said when you told her what I do, that she knew it had something to do with my father's death," she says quietly. "She's right. All I could think about, after he died, was finding out why. Finding out who did it."

"And you did," he says.

"Yeah, I did."

She falls silent then, and he lets her. She's tired, and he doesn't want to push. It isn't just the events of today, but of the last fifteen years, and he knows that it's going to take some time to recover.

They finally reach the hospital, and he stays with her through the whole ordeal. There's paperwork to fill out—which he does for her because moving her right arm is a new experience in pain every time she does it—and endless questions from the doctor.

The doctor only raises an eyebrow when he stands his ground as she strips her jacket and shirt off. The death-grip on his hand would have kept him in the room anyway. Everywhere the doctor touches seems to cause her pain, and he just holds on through it all, trying to lend her his strength.

Finally, the doctor finishes wrapping her ribs. He gives her a brace, to keep her arm from moving, and a prescription for the good drugs. They thank him and make their way back to the car. 

It's been a couple of hours, and by now what little energy Kensi had has been spent. She slumps into the passenger seat and is asleep almost immediately. Callen doesn't mind. He's glad she's letting him take care of her. She's always been a strong, independent woman, and he knows she doesn't need him to watch over her. But when she's hurting, it's hard for him to just stay on the sidelines. There was no way that was going to happen this time, and it's a sign of just how much she's hurting that she's even letting him help.

She finally wakes when the car rolls to a stop. She looks around, a confused frown on her face.

"This isn't my apartment," she says.

He sighs. "No, it's not. You don’t really want to go back there right now. Clairmont did a number on it."

She closes her eyes, a single tear escaping her control. He gets out of the car and moves around to help her out. It's a little easier now that her ribs are bound, so she doesn't wince as much as she had at the hospital.

They make their way slowly up the front walk to Callen's house. He unlocks the door and ushers her inside. She stops just a few feet in, her eyes taking in the nearly empty space.

"Wow," she says. "You really do know how to decorate."

He scans the room, seeing it through her eyes. There's just the one chair, and a lamp. Stacks of books and a few pictures propped on the mantle. Spartan would be an understatement.

He shrugs. "It's just me, and I don't need much."

"It explains why we always go to my place," she says, and there's a teasing quality to her tone that hadn't been there before.

He feels something in his gut unclench. He hadn't realized that he'd been waiting for some sign from her that she was going to be okay. He steps in close, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her, mindful of her tender ribs. She relaxes into his embrace, winding her free arm around his back and leaning into him.

"I'm so tired," she mumbles into his shoulder.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"My mom fed me," she says.

He can feel her smiling against his chest, and he reaches up and cradles her head in his hand. "I'm glad you and your mom are working things out."

"Me, too," she whispers.

They stand like that for a few minutes, just soaking up each other's warmth. At length, Callen pulls back.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you tucked into bed."

"You have a bed?" she asks.

He frowns at her, but it's ruined by the smile that keeps trying to escape. "Yes, I have a bed."

"Sam said you slept in a bedroll."

"I bought myself a bed for Christmas," he says proudly as he walks her back to the master.

He lets her go in first, and again she gets maybe a foot inside before she stops and stares. He peeks around her, admiring the view.

"That's—" she says, unable to continue.

"A bed," he finishes for her.

She smacks her hand against his belly. "It's a huge bed."

And it is. He'd bought the biggest bed he could fit in the room, which turned out to be a queen. And then he'd set about piling it with fluffy blankets and pillows, creating a comfortable and inviting nest. He couldn't say why he'd done it. It wasn't like he needed all that luxury. But he'd wanted it, and he so very rarely indulged his wants. And maybe somewhere in the back of his mind he'd thought that he might one day bring Kensi home with him, and this would appeal to her.

"Come on," he says, tugging her towards the bed.

He helps her strip off her clothes, putting her in one of his old t-shirts to sleep in. He gives her one of the pills the doctor prescribed and, after a little back and forth, convinces her to take it. They work together to re-secure the brace around her waist, and then he gingerly settles her under the covers. He climbs in beside her and rolls over onto his side, snuggling up next to her.

He brushes the hair out of her face and bends down, kissing her gently. "Go to sleep, Kens."

She reaches up with her free hand, fisting the front of his t-shirt. "You'll still be here in the morning?"

"Yeah, I'll be here," he says, his smile softening. "I'm not going anywhere."

She sighs, her eyes closing as she snuggles closer to him. "I love you, G."

"And I love you," he says, even though he can tell she's already asleep.

It's not the first time he's said it, and it won't be the last, but every time he does he can feel his heart swell with pride that this woman that he loves, loves him back. He'd never expected that, but he's so grateful that he has it.

He has every intention of seeing this through with her. He might not have known what she was struggling through, but he can't be angry that she kept it from him. He's done the same with what little he knows of his own past. But loving someone means that you stick by them through everything. And he knows that there may come a day when he'll have to face up to his own past. When that day comes, he knows he'll have her to lean on. And while that won't make it any easier, it'll make it more bearable, just like he hopes he's doing for her. And in the end, that's all that really matters.

~Finis


End file.
